Sorte Avversa: Lamentation
by turquoixe
Summary: Half Blood Prince Spoilers! Beware! Don't read if you haven't finished the entire book! A character reflects on past events.


Lamentation

I never believed I would end this way.

I suppose I should have seen it as soon as I thought that there was a possibility of even the smallest bit of light on a horizon that had all but choked itself on the utter blackness of it all. Through all my years at Hogwarts, there had been what people call trials and tribulations, though compared to this year, my sixth, those past trials had been the mere thorns of a rose in a word that was twisted and corrupted. Every year I believe that I have finally learned the last about Harry. Every year I think that I will be more prepared for the trauma ahead. But now I think I finally understand, and it pains me that it took such a complete disaster to make me realize this:

It will only become worse, and then it will be The End.

In my first year, I was plagued by my aspirations to prove myself among a new group of peers to whom simple intelligence was worthless. Harry, Ron, and I finally met the situation that would blossom into the secret horrors hidden away in denying man's heart. But our life spans went past that of the stone, and we reached second year. Truthfully, it was and is terrible. But the monster that we sought to ruin was not human at all, for even Harry knew that n second year, he could not kill Voldemort. What he sought to destroy was just another child's fear. And the third year was the most innocent of them all. To the naïve eye, it would seem as though all our lives had been under a major threat, but old schoolboys would ever appear to be as dangerous as a basilisk. And it was here that I first saw how foolish we all were. Because though are lives were not standing at the edge of the precipice, our actions caused us to be further pushed up the range to a more perilous peak. Fourth year brought a first true taste of fear, but we were too angry to see it. Fifth year was struck with another hard blow.

We hadn't seen anything yet.

Sixth year seemed like a giant joke. Yes we knew Voldemort was coming back, but somehow, we clung to the idea that we couldn't let ourselves be overcome by fear. So we played Quidditch, we worried over grades, and we blinded ourselves by a giddy glee that was sick and bittersweet.

I believe my downfall begins with my heritage. Yes, I am a muggleborn. For my pre-magical life I had been fed the fairytales, the legends, the fiction that had described all tragic adventure stories. Evil witch. Evil wizard. Hero. Happily Ever After. I thought I knew that I would have to go through the disastrous chapters before I could reach the shining epilogue. Every previous year had been the same. Trouble. Solution. Even though we had heard everyone talking about how the victories were minor. They still remained victories. And the story was 'happily ever aftered,' because Harry, Ron, and I always survived. What we valued most then, was our time.

Dumbledore was the smartest and incompetent one. He had all the leads of his former student. He was beyond anyone else's reach in power or understanding of magic. But he had a fault- he was human. And that is a fault after all. He had a way of telling us 'everything' only for Harry to find out the next year that 'everything' had a lot missing. It remained, though, that Dumbledore was all we had. In the stories I mentioned earlier, there are the villains and the knights. But Dumbledore was the author. When Dumbledore died, I didn't cry at first. That was how bad it was.

Dread.

It started near the hollow of my chest. Everything seemed to slow down- moving through thick heat. But it was temperature-less. I was in a suspended mental state, where the outside world was oblivious. There was no sound, no texture, and the colors were drained, stretched thin. The only thing I felt was the weak pulse of a beating heart. Mine. The rhythm tingled at my feet and hands, though they felt numb and heavy. I didn't move for a long time. That was when the tears came. They weren't noisy, or racking, they squeezed out like they were forced, as if I knew I supposed to cry. But the death of Dumbledore was so different from the demise of Sirius. For Sirius I had been emotional. But Dumbledore's passing… it was much more than sadness. This was fear. This was dread. This was being forced into the unknown that falters even the most hardy. Because Dumbledore was not supposed to die. We all expected for those that we loved to be in peril, but Dumbledore was the sun looking around the corner at us in the darkness when the new moon cast dead soil at our feet.

Rage.

Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy. It shouldn't be possible for me to write these names at all, for they are poison to me, and my very joints are like to seize with their mentioning. The pattern that our lives had followed for -seemingly- ever, was broken. Dumbledore was always right about Snape. But not this time. Not that time. And Malfoy. The amazing bouncing ferret gaining some nerve. For Malfoy, I pity him. He is likely to be killed and he would deserve it. I won't hide that fact. I wouldn't kill him if I had the choice, but he does deserve to die if only to have his suffering ended. Hatred. I hate Severus Snape.

What I wish for now is a breath of fresh air. I know it won't happen, just like the other fleeting fantasies including heroic saviors. When I began my schooling at Hogwarts I expected to finished the seven years. But Hogwarts will close- or if it doesn't, Harry won't be there. And Harry was Hogwarts for those who went to school there with him, just as much as Dumbledore was.

I tire of the cruelly twisted future, but it is mine, however long

Or short.

I can here Fawkes's lament at this moment.

-H.G.


End file.
